


Meeting Her Family

by mother_finch



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, mother-finch fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 06:04:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17719517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: PROMPT: I don’t know if you’re taking prompts but if you are I was wondering if you could write about root and Shaw being together during Shaw’s ISA days and while Shaw and cole are working a number things go sideways and they need a place to lay low so Shaw takes them back to her and roots apartment.





	Meeting Her Family

"You ever wonder if we'll meet Control?" Michael Cole asks through his com, stationed in a dark van at the end of the block.

"I never wonder much of anything," Shaw replies, tugging her hood up a little higher. Beneath the bedraggled hoodie, she's equipped with a bullet-proof vest and enough extra ammunition to bring down a small army. She keeps her hands in her pockets, easily concealing the silenced gun in her right and capped syringe in her left. Two strands of hair fall before her face, and she keeps her head low, trying to remain inconspicuous.

"Of  _course_ you don't," Cole says sarcastically, and Shaw's mouth nearly quirks up with a smirk. "You're the ISA's loyal-to-a-T guard dog.  _They_ don't want it,  _you_ don't want it."

"Maybe you should try taking a page out of my book," Shaw offers, the target house coming into view. Past a row of thick hedges, she can make out two men sitting on the porch, one poorly concealing a semi-automatic. The other sneaks a glance at his phone.  _Amateurs_. "Curiosity killed the cat after all."

"But satisfaction brought it back," Cole quips. Shaw edges along the hedge-line, starting up the walkway.

"You not satisfied with your top secret government job? I'd think a line like that would get all the ladies."

The guard with the semi-automatic stands. Shoving the other, he jolts to his feet, stashing the phone away.

"Maybe it would if I could  _tell_ them that," he huffs, just as the click of a safety hits the air. Phone guy still has the gun in his waistline, fingers dancing at the trigger of his handgun. She smiles a Cheshire Grin.

"Hi boys," she greets, never slowing her gait.

"You got business here?" Semi-automatic asks, eyeing her. "I've never seen you around before."

Shaw tilts her head back, bringing her face into the moonlight. The windows are pasted over with newspaper, no telling what's on the other side.  _I always liked a good mystery._

"I'm new around here."

"We don't do new around here."

"Bummer," Shaw says, scuffing her boot along the cracked pavement, a  few loose pebbles spraying the grass. "Things would've turned out better for you two if you were on my good side."

"Is that right?" Semi-automatic laughs, accompanied by phone guy's delayed chuckle, a sliver of fear crossing his eyes in the pale light. He has every reason to be frightened.

In a blur of movement, Shaw draws her handgun, the shots barely making a sound as two bullets hit Semi-automatic square in the chest. He drops like a stone.

_Bang!_

Phone guy screams, blood gushing down his leg as he recoils his hand away from his gun, the hot casing against his skin as he frantically brushes it away. He grabs at his leg, crimson red soaking into his dark blue jeans.

"You really shouldn't have the gun pointed on you when the safety's off," Shaw tells him simply, and before his look of confusion can morph into understanding, she shoots him, knowing with surgical precision she's hit just between the third and fourth rib. Dead before he hits the ground.

"You getting shot at over there?" Cole teases. "I thought you could handle yourself."

"Chuckle-head shot himself with his own gun," Shaw responds, unable to help the rumble of humor in her words. Her cell pings, and upon quick calculation, she decides she has time to check. She's not much of a social butterfly— the only people who have her number are important enough to answer.

Seeing the name on her lock screen, Shaw can feel a preemptive eye roll sliding into the chamber.

 **ROOT:** How's the day job?

 **ME:** Busy.

 **ROOT:**  Too busy to chat with your favorite hacker?

There it is, the eye roll. Shaw moves silently up the porch steps, pressing herself to the wall just outside the door. The voices within are muffled, but concerned. Footsteps approach.

 **ME:**  I didn't know Harold needed to talk.

Shaw's lips turn up in a light smile, knowing the response isn't what Root was hoping for.

"You texting on the job?" Cole asks, and Shaw's smile drops. She stashes the phone away. It pings again, but she doesn't reach for it. Another ping. Another.

"I get bored waiting around. That a problem?"

"No, no," Cole replies, as the footsteps stop at the door, looking through the peephole. "I just didn't think you had any friends other than me."

"Yo, Lem? Marcus?" a man calls out. He opens the door, stepping onto the porch, gun low but ready. Uncapping the syringe, Shaw sticks it in his neck and pushes the plunger. He grabs her hand, large fingers encasing hers, but it's too late. The mix kicks in, and he drops to his knees. Face first on the porch.

 _Control said we needed one alive for intel_.

Whipping into the doorway, Shaw shoots the three awaiting men expertly, then reloads. Their bodies thud against the ground, carpet almost masking their fall. Footfall on the steps. Turn. Shoot. Drop.

 _It's almost too easy_ , Shaw thinks to herself. After the time spent working numbers with the team, some of this seemed so repetitive. Here, she always knows the guy on the other side of the door is guilty. No intel, no unraveling conspiracy. Just point and shoot.

Taking the stairs two at a time, she hears frantic typing in the first room.

"You want him alive, or can you get into his computer without him?" Shaw asks. Cole laughs.

"That hurts, Shaw. That truly hurts."

Eyes alight, she kicks through the door. He stands. She shoots. He grabs his chest, falling to the ground with a sickening smack. With the team, it was always knee caps— it seemed to be Harold's compromising ground— but not here. Here, with the relevant numbers, there were no survivors.

"You're clear," Shaw says. "Bring the van around; we're taking one with us." Stepping over the man's body, she plops down in his swivel chair. The man's name was Charles Turner, a high stakes fixer on the dark side of the grid. Recently, he'd opted to fix for terrorists rather than his normal rich men with secrets.

"Shoulda stuck with Wall Street," she says to him, as if the advice can do any good now. Kicking her feet onto the desk, she withdraws her phone.

 **ROOT:**  I'm not your favorite?

 **ROOT:**  Hmm...

 **ROOT:** What do you say, when you get home tonight, I change your mind?

The smile returns. Small, invisible to the naked eye, but someone who knows her well enough could see it.  _Someone like Root._

 **ME:**  You seem confident you can.

The next message pops through, and Shaw's grin grows.

 **ROOT:**  I have a feeling the name of your favorite hacker is going to be said a lot toni—

"Woah, there," Cole says, and Shaw snaps her phone to her pocket, yanking her feet off the desk. "I haven't seen you smile like that since... tell me, have I  _ever_ seen you smile like that?"

Shaw's cheeks burn, but she keeps herself composed. Pushing away from the chair, she makes room for Cole to get comfortable.

"You've never said anything worth smiling at," she responds, to which he mouths a pained 'ouch.'

He turns to the computer, beginning to type.

"Well,  _someone_ certainly said something you liked," he continues, not ready to let the topic go. He hunches into the desk, eyes getting lost in the data. He plugs a drive into the USB port. "What is it? Funny cousin? Kitten video? Sexy booty call?"

"Oh,  _please_ ," Shaw scoffs, turning away from the desk and transitioning her gun from her pocket to her waistband.

"Booty call it is."

"I have half a mind to shoot you right now."

"You'd never."

Shaw turns, coming back to the desk and leaning against it.

"And why's that?"

"You hate paperwork," he answers, watching file after file copy. "And if I died, who would do it all for you?"

She raises her brows, eyes alight.

"See, I knew there had to be  _some_ reason I kept you around."

Shaw's cell pings. Pings. Rings.

"Booty call's getting impatient," Cole chuckles, and Shaw's ears burn. Without bothering to look, she ignores the call.

Ping.

Ping.

Shaw stiffens. Cole grins.

"Don't let me stop you. You know we don't need to have secrets."

"Yeah," Shaw cracks, "we're real open  _books_."

Pulling out her phone, she sees the missed call from Root.  _She knows I'm at work,_  Shaw grumbles to herself. Just as she goes to stow the phone away, a single message catches her eye.

 **ROOT:**  NOW

She pauses a moment, running the possible reasons Root would send that. It's enough to make her go back and look.

 **ROOT:**  People are coming to your location.

 **ROOT:**  You pissed someone off, Harold's tracking three cars.

**ROOT: [MISSED CALL]**

**ROOT:**  Get out of there.

 **ROOT:**  NOW

"We gotta go," Shaw says, grabbing Cole by the jacket collar and yanking him out of his seat. He tears himself away.

"What do you mean  _go_? The files aren't done."

"We've been compromised."

"Compromised?" He takes a moment, looking her over. "How do you know that?"

Shaw grinds her teeth, nostrils flaring with a hint of impatience.

"I have sources."

"No, _I_  have sources," Cole corrects. "And none of them said a thing to me."

"I  _do_ have sources," Shaw corrects, grabbing hold of him once more and pulling him toward the door, "and it looks like they're better than yours."

Into the hall, down the stairs, through the kitchen. The ajar front door is in sight, only a few feet separating them from freedom. Tires screech, and voices shout out.

Shaw stops, Cole yanked back like a rag doll. His previous fight is gone, knowing this is not his area of expertise.

"You passed gun training, didn't you?" Shaw asks. He nods.

"It's a requirement."

She hands him her hand gun. He hands it back.

"I have my own," he tells her, pulling his from his holster.

"You're not going to want to waste time reloading," she shoots back, again handing him her gun. Turning one of the goons over with a foot, she pulls the assault rifle out from under him. Checks the magazine. Grabs a spare.

The people outside are on the porch, one pant leg visible through the crack in the door. _Root said three cars, how many could they fit in three cars?_ The pant leg moves, revealing a hand as a stun grenade is tossed in. It bounces a few times, rolling to a stop just before their feet.

"Come on," Shaw barks, throwing Cole up the staircase and following close behind.

_Bang!_

Her vision erupts in white, ears ringing like a four alarm fire. Her head feels thick, all of her motions slower than she wants.  _Come on, come on_. It feels like years before they make it to the top of the steps, and Shaw's head only just begins to clear.

"Go, go, go!" A voice bellows, and the house door is kicked open. Smoke begins curling its way up the staircase, and Shaw knows whoever these people are, they won't be far behind it.

"Last time I checked, your average Joe doesn't carry stun grenades," Cole groans, holding his head. Shaw ushers him into the bedroom, shutting the door silently behind them.

"Turner works with more than average Joe's. He must have alerted them before I cleared the room."

Taking out her phone, Shaw dials Root, putting it on speaker and stashing it in her back pocket. She's unsure what's more dangerous: the men outside, or what might come out of Root's mouth. The call barely makes it through the first ring before it connects, and Shaw doesn't give Root so much as a second for greetings.

"Root, you got a minute?"

A stampede starts up the stairs.

"For you?" Root coos. "I've got all the time in the world."

The first man, dressed head to toe in tactical gear, shoves through the door, only to be met with Shaw's heavy gunfire.

"You home?"

"Running an errand with Harry, but I can be there in ten minutes."

Two more surge in, guns at the ready. Bright white cascades across the room as they shoot, met with Shaw and Cole diving behind a coffee table, pushing it up like a barricade. Shaw's back shoots with red hot pain, three bullets lodging themselves in her vest. She sucks in a shaky breath, wind knocked out of her. She coughs.

"Unlock the back window and drop the fire escape," Shaw tells her, trying her best to keep her voice even. Her ears are hot, the feeling of liquid swishing within them as the pain arches up her spine. _That's gonna leave a hell of a bruise._

"Someone's in the mood for foreplay," Root quips back. Shaw ignores Cole's baffled countenance and Harold's surprised cough.  _She had to be on speaker..._

"We need somewhere to lie low," Shaw responds neutrally, throwing the barrel of her rifle along the tabletop and shooting the men. Eyes barely peeking past the gun, she lands gut shots on the two, then returns to her sitting position behind the table.

"You gonna use those soon or what?" Shaw asks Cole, whose previous freeze at Root's tongue-and-cheek shatters.

"Yeah, just give me a signal."

Bullets plow through the wood table like tissue paper, spraying them with splinters.

" _That's_  your signal."

Both stand, backing to the window as they return fire. Shaw keeps her center of gravity low, while trying to remain on her toes.  _The last thing I want to be is a still target._

Her body is thrown back, left shoulder blossoming in pain as she smacks against the back wall with a grunt. Blood splatters the white wallpaper, and her entire arm goes slack. Shifting the rifle to her right, she wedges it against her side, shooting sporadically at their assailants while Cole does his best to make precision shots. The rifle cracks against her ribs with the kickback of each shot, and she holds her breath.

Three men drop. There's more at the stairs. Shaw throws the rifle down, beginning to pry open the window with her one good hand. Cole yanks his drive out of the computer, then assists, and a blast of cold air hits them.

"So you want to lure them home?" Root asks, seeming preoccupied. There's a gunshot on her end, a scream, then the rev of a motorcycle. Shaw decides now is not the time to ask. "Honestly, Sameen, if you don't like our apartment, we can always move."

" _Our_ apartment?" Cole asks as he clambers through the window and onto the shingled overhang. She ignores him, taking his hand as he helps her out of the house.

"It's the closest place to our location," Shaw answers, teeth clenched, as she and Cole dash to the end of the overhang and begin picking their way down a lattice. Shaw's arm burns— she's unable to use it to climb, or much of anything at this point. The blood flow is steady; she's going to need medical attention, and soon.

Jumping the last few feet to the ground, and vainly trying to ignore the jarring pain reverberating from her ribs and back, she and Cole take off into the tree line.

"Get out the gauze when you get there," Shaw says to Root, regretting it almost instantly.

" _Gauze_?" Root echoes, voice muffled by the rush of wind from speeding on the stolen motorcycle. "What happened?"

Shaw can tell she's trying to keep calm, but the worry edges its way through nonetheless. She doesn't like making Root worried. Root has a way of getting dark when something happens to Shaw, and she'd rather keep Root out of that darkness where she can avoid it.

"It's fine," Shaw answers, though her shoulder screams that it is anything but fine. She swallows hard, steeling her gut. "I'll see you in fifteen."

Before Root has a chance to retaliate, or press for more information, Shaw kills the line. She takes inventory of their position, veering to the left to keep them on track. Feeling Cole's eyes on her, her gaze flitters to her side. He's limping, gashes in his pant leg revealing some of the larger splinters protruding from his skin. A few scratches on his cheek suggest the same culprit.

"Why’re you looking at me like that?"

"Who was  _that_ on the phone?" he asks, the question shooting from him like he'd been holding in that breath for ten minutes. Shaw doesn't answer. He presses. "Your girlfriend? Your wife?"

"She's  _not_ my wife," Shaw spits defensively, not wanting to talk about it. She'd rather be back in Turner's house than have the ‘feelings’ talk with Cole.

"With all she has to put up with to maintain  _you—_ " Cole says, then falters, tripping over a tree root with his bad leg. He starts again. "— you should put a ring on her before she bolts."

They break through the tree line, coming to a quiet sidewalk bathed in moonlight.  _Only ten more blocks up and fifteen over_ , Shaw thinks. It didn't seem so bad before. A light jog could get them there in fifteen, but she's feeling sluggish. Tired. Cold. The pain in her arm has become an ache that thuds with each pump of her heart.  _We gotta make it there._

"If I wanted your relationship advice, I would've asked for it," Shaw responds between grit teeth. A weightless, airy feeling grows in the back of her head. She takes a long blink. Opening her eyes again, she feels Cole's arm around hers, keeping her moving. She shakes the feeling away, but it begins its encroachment immediately.

"I'm excited for you, Shaw. That's huge." He sounds earnest, but Shaw could care less. She has half a mind to shoot him and leave him behind. He doesn't seem to notice her tense at his side, and continues. "How'd you two meet?"

"Work."

"She works for ISA?"

"Different work."

"What different work?"

Shaw gives an internal groan, eyes rolling up as her head drops back in exasperation. _This is going to be the longest walk of my life._

**___\ If Your Number's Up /___**

Root paces back and forth along the width of her living room, eyes locked on the fire escape window. The clock on the far wall ticks, second hand echoing through the apartment. Fifteen minutes was up seven minutes minutes ago.  _Where is she?_

Root doesn't want to think of what Shaw's lateness might mean. _I should have found out where she was going_ , Root thinks to herself, walking to the window and peering out. The street is deathly quiet. Back to the center of the living room— back to pacing. _She said Cole was the only one who knew, but I could've used a tracker. Something._

_Eight minutes ago._

_She said she was in the area_ , Root thinks, gears turning with the speed of worry. Other than her footfalls on the carpet, there's not a sound. Not even the Machine. _If She could see her, She would've said something, right?_  Root stops her pace, looking to the door.

 _Maybe, if I go outside, I can canvas the area_ , she says to herself, but knows the idea is a futile one. She could be within fifteen minutes of their apartment in any direction. She could be in any building, on any street corner. _Hell, she could have been chased further away from the apartment instead._

Root starts for the front door. As hopeless as it seems, Root needs to do something—   _anything—_  to make sure Shaw's alright.

Just as she yanks open the front door, she hears clattering on the fire escape.

"Come on, almost there," a voice says, one she doesn't recognize. Pushing her jacket away, her hand hovers over her gun as she approaches the window.

"This one?" the voice asks, then a head of short, dark hair scales the ladder, startling blue eyes locking on hers. His jaw is clenched, sweat beading along his forehead as he hoists something up to the landing with him.

_Not something, someone._

Eyes widening, Root reaches down, grabbing hold of Shaw as the mystery man—  _it has to be Cole, right?—_ helps push Shaw onto the window ledge. Shaw's pale— almost marble like— and her skin is coated with a filmy layer of sweat. Grabbing her by the arm, Shaw grunts, and Root's fingers slide against slippery warmth. Scarlet blood seeps between her fingers, and she quickly switches arms, tugging Shaw from the right into the apartment.

Shaw staggers, and Root wraps her arm around Shaw's waist, walking her to the kitchen. Shaw, usually the defiant, get-off-me loner, leans against Root, head lolling ever so slightly with a haze in her eyes. Root sits her on a kitchen chair as Cole climbs through the window and shuffles toward the kitchen. His eyes canvas every corner, assessing potential threats and exit strategies. Root takes note of his injuries as she pulls out a bottle of alcohol from the cabinet, but doesn't dwell on them.

"If you need to wash those out, help yourself," Root says to him, not bothering to meet his eye as her gaze returns to Shaw. Shaw looks ready to black out, but is somehow still able to maintain a resting face of worldly antipathy. In any other circumstance, it would make Root smile.

"You said it was fine," Root says quietly, not bothering to mask the disapproval in her tone as she uncorks the bottle. Shaw pulls it from her hands, takes a swig, then pours it over her shoulder without a wince.

"It  _is_ fine."

" _This_ isn't fine," Root argues, peeling back Shaw's jacket and helping her unclip the vest. Root eyes a bullet lodged in the front, and her fingers skim a few more in the back. She decides that's a conversation for another time.

"Depends on your definition of fine," Shaw responds.

"And what's  _your_ definition?"

Shaw smiles at Root. It's subtle, just big enough for Root to see. A smile meant only for Root. Her anger melts, unable to keep her eyes from glowing, butterflies in her chest.

" _Not dead._ "

Tugging at the hem of Shaw's shirt, Root begins lifting it up, ignoring the bruises on Shaw's abdomen.  _For now._  She shoots Cole a look. At first, he doesn't notice, just watches Shaw. Then, feeling Root's eyes burning into his skin, he realizes the situation, and heads for the living room.

Returning to her work, Root pulls Shaw's shirt away, revealing a bloody mess of tissue and tendons.

"Bullet's through and through," Shaw tells Root as she goes to check. With a small smile, Root grabs gauze. Again, Shaw takes this from her, beginning to wipe away the blood on her own. The blood flows steadily, and Root knows Shaw needs stitches as soon as possible.

Cole clears his throat, still facing away from them.

"So..." he starts. "You are...?"

"Root."

" _Root_...?"

When she doesn't respond, Cole chances a glance back. Root gives him a quizzical look, cocking a brow.

"No, uh, last name?" he clarifies. "Root  _Something_?"

Shaking her head, she returns her attention to Shaw. Shaw's motions are slow—   strained— as she wipes the blood with shaky fingers. Carefully, Root takes the gauze back, cleaning the wound quickly before pulling a surgical needle and thread from her first aid kit. Holding Shaw's shoulder still, she begins the stitches.

"Nothing? How about Root Smith? Root Doe? Root Shaw?" Shaw stiffens under Root's fingers. "Just spit-balling here."

"You wanna get shot next?" Shaw spits, but her words are muddied, the threat losing some of its ferocity.

"Just Root for now," Root answers, unable to keep the warm purr from her words as she smiles dotingly Shaw's way. Shaw's eyes are hard on hers, not at all amused. Standing, Root steps around the chair, beginning another set of stitches at the back of Shaw's shoulder.

"Mind if I make myself at home?" Cole asks.

"Whatever you need," Root answers, not quite paying attention to him as he slips out of sight. Her eyes trail along three large welts across Shaw's back, already purple with bruises.

"This job's not safe," Root murmurs at Shaw's ear, fingers coated in red as she finishes up the stitch-work.

Shaw chuckles.

"And yours is?"

"You never catch this many bullets when I'm around."

"I can get my job done just fine without you," Shaw shoots back harshly, but it rolls off Root's shoulders.

"I'm not saying you can't."

Shaw sighs.

"I know."

Root pulls away from Shaw, heading to the sink to wash her hands. Shaw pulls out more gauze, beginning to wrap her shoulder. She tries to raise her arm, gritting her teeth as she struggles to move it more than an inch. Root rushes back over, gently lifting Shaw's arm as Shaw begins the bandaging.

"Just because the bullet went through doesn't mean it didn't break bone," Root warns. "You're going to have to let it heal."

"It better heal fast."

"You of all people should know that's not how it works."

With a small smile, Root shrugs her black, leather jacket from her shoulders, giving it to Shaw. Shaw slides it on a little more roughly than Root would like, given the condition of her stitches, and zips it up.

"Yeah, we're at Indigo Five Alpha's apartment," Root hears quietly from the other room. She and Shaw share a look; Root stands.

"No, not on Main, on 52nd. Yeah, we were compromised back at— "

Root tears Cole's cellphone from his hand, ending the call and tossing it out the fire escape window. It lands in the alleyway with a shattering crash.

"What the  _hell_?" Cole bellows.

"Who was that," Root demands, a darkness in her brown eyes that makes Cole swallow hard. The fretting girlfriend he'd seen earlier is gone; this person is someone colder— someone deadly.

"Our boss," Cole answers meekly. He swallows again, trying to regain his composure. "I have to give her an update. Not that your home isn't nice or anything, but we need an extraction plan."

Root's lip tugs up in a sneer, the room dropping twenty degrees.

"Leave that to us." Extending her soul-splitting glare a moment more, Root turns away, grabbing her phone from the kitchen counter and calling John. Shaw watches her, sitting back in the chair and breathing steadily.

_Breathe in. Breathe out._

She needs to stay awake, stay focused. She can't afford to black out now. She'd only be dead weight, especially considering the ISA's bound to have tracked the location on Cole's phone by now.  _It's going to be a mess trying to explain the apartment situation at the office._

"I'll see you then," Root says, hanging up the phone and stashing it in her back pocket. She leans against the counter, something in her eyes that Shaw can't quite place. Catching Shaw's stare, Root gives her a weary smile, starting toward her. She slips into the chair next to Shaw's, putting the extra gauze and supplies back into the first aid kit. Her fingers trail over the lid, something clearly on her mind.

Shaw tilts her head toward Root, catching her eye. Root continues to pick at the kit.

"So," she starts slowly, "by boss, does he mean..."

"Control?" Shaw finishes, and there's a hitch in Root's movements. Mechanically, she returns to life. "Yeah."

Root nods slowly, latching the kit and beginning to stand. Shaw follows, world spinning as she does, and she uses the table for balance.

"Hey," Shaw says, fingers tapping at Root's wrist instead of encircling it.  _Depth perception is a little wonky._  Root turns back to her, and Shaw forces herself to focus on Root, the blur in her eyes slowly receding. "I'm not gonna let her hurt you again."

Root opens her mouth as if to speak, but says nothing. Her teeth grind, gaze falling away from Shaw. There's a burning that grows in the pit of Shaw's stomach, thinking back to what Control did to Root. When Shaw found out, she was ready to bring down Hell with one hand if that's what it took to make Control pay. But that would have gotten her kicked from the ISA, and the Machine needed an in on the relevant numbers. Something about Root working them too, and if they were ever to cross paths, she'd need to keep Root in the clear.

Shaw lifts her right arm, bringing her icy thumb and forefinger to Root's chin and pulling her face closer. Root's eyes hesitantly slide back to Shaw.

"I'm not," Shaw repeats, eyes set on Root's. "Okay?"

Root's eyes search Shaw's. She nods.

Shaw rolls her thumb along Root's jawline, unsure what to do to quell the storm clouds swirling within Root's eyes, but needing to do something.

"Wait," Cole cuts in, shattering the moment. Shaw drops her hand, turning her attention to him. "Does she know Control?"

"Know is a strong word," Root replies, charismatic melody back in her voice, but Shaw knows everything's not as peachy as Root makes it out to be. "More like tortured by."

"So, you know who she is. Which means..." his eyes slide between Root and Shaw, indignation growing. His gaze settles on Shaw with accusation. "You know  _exactly_ who Control is!" he roars. "That's why you don't seem interested in finding out. You already  _found_ out."

He shakes his head, disbelieving smile mingling with his bafflement at the secret.

"And you couldn't bother to tell me?"

"Sometimes, not knowing is better than knowing," Shaw replies. "For example, Control not knowing that I know what she looks like, or who we're with right now, is better than the alternative."

Confusion clouds him, shoulders dropping as he shakes his head.

"Who are you people?" he asks quietly, directing the question at Shaw. Root answers instead.

"Concerned third party."

There's a knock at the door, followed by John's head peeking in, eyes finding Root.

"You bringing anything along?" he asks. Root looks to Shaw.

"There's the duffel bag in the bedroom." Shaw offers with a shrug, still feeling out of it, but coming to. The coldness still slithers through her veins. "I'll grab it, and a shirt."

"That's it?" John asks Root humorously. "A duffel bag and a shirt?"

"What can I say, we travel light."

**___\ We'll Find You /___**

With the duffel bag in the trunk, Root's jacket swapped for a button-up shirt, and a gun in hand, Shaw ignores the bumps in the road as Harold speeds down the block, government marked vehicles turning the corner.

"I don't suppose we know where we're going?" Harold asks, making a hard left as the cars begin speeding after.

"Wherever we have to to get them off our tail," John responds, looking through the rear view mirror from his spot in the passenger seat. Shaw is sandwiched between Root and Cole in the back of the SUV, Root's hand resting loosely on Shaw's knee. The soreness is already kicking in, her back and abdomen creaking like old floor boards.

"You bring anything good in that bag, Shaw?" John asks. "These guys might need some persuasion."

"Considering your arsenal hasn't been updated since the Cold War, I'd say  _everything_ in the bag's good," Shaw counters with a smirk, stiffly tugging the zipper from behind her backrest. She slides onto her knees, pulling large and clearly illegal weapons from the bag, sending a few John's way.

John looks the guns over with a devilish grin. Harold hits another hard left, sending everyone sliding across their seats.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?" John asks. Shaw raises a brow, reaching over Root to the car door. They share a silent conversation, rolling down their windows.

John is the first to duck out, lifting his body through the window and clinging to the side of the car.

"Get my legs?" Shaw asks, though doesn't wait for a response as she clambers over Root, throwing herself out the window. Root presses her leg to Shaw's shins, her hand encircling Shaw's legs just behind the knee. Shaw's left arm hangs limply at her side, but it's not stopping her. Root can't help her toothy grin.

Harold meets Root’s eye through the rear view mirror, panic onset. She merely winks.

"I'd offer to help, but uh, shooting at my own people isn't really my thing."

Root turns to Cole, seeing him a sickly shade of green. His eyes can't stop wandering around the car, looking from John, to Harold, to Shaw, to Root and over again.

"So you guys are some sort of... criminals?"

"Not criminals," Harold corrects, though by the looks of the situation, there's not much of a better explanation.

"Kind of criminals," Root answers.

Sparks fly against the side of the car, and a rear light shatters with a flash of red. Root grips Shaw's legs a little tighter as Harold veers in between cars, horns honking at the unfolding chaos. Looking up at Shaw through the window, she can't help the butterflies swirling in her chest.

"Murder twins in action," she muses— almost to herself.

"Murder what?" Cole echoes. Seeing his alarm, she merely shakes her head.

"Nothing."

The back window shatters, glass showering the back seat.

"Just keep your head down," she instructs, pushing at the back of his neck as she looks over her shoulder. The ISA agents are closing in—  _perhaps a little too close for comfort._

"Playtime's over, Sweetie," Root calls through the window, drawing Shaw into the car. She wraps her arms around Shaw's waist, both for affection and to keep Shaw from leaving her lap in pursuit of the firefight once more. "You need rest," she continues, placing her chin on Shaw's shoulder and peering up at her with doting eyes.

"I'm  _fine_ ," Shaw says tightly, Root's affection bringing warmth crawling from her neck to her cheeks.

"You were just shot, and the dressings aren't going to hold up if you don't sit still."

She knows Shaw doesn't want to. Is calculating the probability of getting away with joining John again. Shaw's face softens, letting her eyes flitter down to Root, scanning her face with her gaze lingering at Root's lips. Root's breath catches— just because she knows Shaw's endgame doesn't mean it's any less effective.

"Root..." she starts, voice a low whisper, and pink splashes across Root's cheeks. She turns her head to Root, the magnitude of her gaze intensifying seven-fold. " _Please_..."

Root's lips part with a euphoric grin hanging loosely in place.  _She knows me so well_ , Root thinks, nearly giving into Shaw's pleading eyes and the slight beg in her tone. It's the type of thing Shaw knows will make Root melt— never wanting to tell Shaw no, and unable to resist the temptation her mood brings.

"Nice try," Root says, finally composing herself enough to answer, though her body still hums with life. Kissing Shaw's cheek, she slides Shaw off her lap, then slides herself out the window. The heat in Shaw's face spreads to her ears, and she clenches her teeth.

"I really don't think this is the best course of action," Harold tries, voice beginning to tremor ever so slightly. "Is there anything else we can possibly do to extinguish the situation?"

"Nothing that you'd approve of," Shaw shoots back, slouching down in her seat. She doesn't want to admit defeat from the pain in her arm—   _ribs definitely cracked—_  but she knows Root was right.  _She's always right, and it's as annoying as it sounds._

"You never told me about your rogue band of assassins," Cole says, leaning closer to her. He looks rattled, but he smiles nonetheless.

"Everyone needs a hobby."

"Guess I shouldn't have expected any less," Cole chuckles. Another round of bullets smash against the framework of the car, and he ducks even lower. His eyes jump to Root and back. "Girlfriend's bad ass," he adds.

Shaw can't help the smile that tugs at the corner of her mouth.

"I know. Don't tell her that, or it'll just go to her head."

"Bad ass with a great ass," Root tacks on, slipping back into the car with eyes set on Shaw. Her hair is a wild mess, and her eyes glow. Shaw rolls her eyes.

"Turn left up here, Harry," Root instructs as John pulls himself back into the vehicle.

"That'll take us on the highway."

"Yeah."

"In the wrong direction."

"It's only for two exits."

Pushing past Shaw, Root leans her elbows on the center console, beginning to point out clear paths for Harold. Cars swerve around them, but Shaw doesn't seem phased. Cole grips the back of John's chair with one hand, the other glued to the hand grip.

"So, uh," he starts up again shakily. She's unsure if he's in a conversational mood or just trying to quell his nerves. "Murder Twins, huh?"

Shaw smirks.

"Every dysfunctional assassin family has their issues."

"Apparently so."

The two nod, sharing the moment. Shaw has to admit, he's handling this pretty well. There's a small twinge in her chest, knowing this might be the last time they work any cases together.

"Listen, Cole, I get if you have to report what happened— "

"Don't worry about it," he interrupts, eyes set and earnest on hers. "As far as I'm concerned, the mission was blown, and we did what we needed to get out."

"How are you going to explain— "

"I don't know names," he continues, "don't  know faces. They," he gestures with his head to the trio before them, "were never here."

Shaw mulls it over, finding the excuse unlikely to stick but knows it's worth the risk.

"Thanks."

He gives her a smile, which is wrenched off his face as Harold takes a wild turn onto the exit, nearly hitting a red Subaru and a tree in the same instant.

"Where are you two gonna go without an apartment?" John asks Root, as if the ride is a gentle trip on a train instead of a six car pileup waiting to happen.

"I'm thinking we'll spend the weekend with Harry," Root replies devilishly, and Harold shoots John a warning look. "It's been years since I've had a real sleepover."

"Sounds like fun," John replies, meeting Harold's gaze with hellish fire in his own. "I think I'll join you."

"I'll find a new living arrangement for the two of you as soon as possible," Harold says with a defeated sigh.

"What?" Root pouts, pulling back from the console and resting at Shaw's side. She wraps her hand around Shaw's, who doesn't protest. "Don't want any roommates?"

Shaw looks over her shoulder, the government cars no where in sight.  _Safe, for now._

"We should hop out," Shaw says to Cole, then meets Harold's eye in the mirror. "They're going to need to pull us from the mission somewhere, and it might as well be far from where you're headed."

He complies, pulling off to the side and unlocking the doors. The locks groan, the car barely willing to move another inch after the firefight.

"Nice meeting all of you," Cole says, scratching the back of his neck. "Wish it had been better circumstances."

"Believe me," John replies, "it doesn't tend to get much better than this."

With a last smile and a nod, Cole slips from the car, Shaw following close behind. She stops just at the edge of the seat, Root's fingers still wrapped around hers.

"You gonna be okay?" Root asks. Shaw wants to roll her eyes at the question.  _Clearly I'll be okay_ , she nearly retorts, but seeing the genuine concern on Root's face, she sighs.

"Always am," Shaw replies, giving Root's hand a squeeze before untangling their fingers. "I'll see you at Harold's."

With that, she slips into the icy night, watching the shambled remains of the SUV disappear into the darkness.

"You got a phone to call backup?" Shaw asks, and Cole shakes his head.

"Root threw it out the window."

Shaw's shoulders drop, and she lets her head fall back.

"I guess that means we're walking."

Pushing past Cole, Shaw starts back toward the highway, Cole trailing close behind.

"So," he asks, limp a little worse than before but spirits seeming higher. "Any other secrets you're hiding from me?"

Shaw looks at him with a devilish grin.

"Wouldn't you like to know."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for the prompt! It was super sweet, and I hope that you liked it. This is the newest prompt I have in the box, so I was hoping that whoever sent it was still around and would be able to see it, haha. Thank you again so much, and thanks for reading!


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